


Don't Threaten Me With a Good Time

by Rachel777



Category: The Martian (2015), The Martian - All Media Types, The Martian - Andy Weir
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, PTSD, extension of plot, graphic descriptions of science, picks up where book leaves off, platonic(ish) cuddling, shower scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-05-20 16:32:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6016635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachel777/pseuds/Rachel777
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark is shocked to realize that Chris is interested in more than his health.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7/31 Update: a few minor changes to grammar/plot fixes to make the story closer to canon.

Audio Log Transcript: Mission Day 687

Today was a weird day.

I got up this morning and realized it was the last time I would ever wake up on Mars. By the end of the day I would be on the Hermes on my way home (or dead)! It was Sol 549 there, but on the Hermes it's over 100 days later. I hope Commander Lewis will let me get the extra 40 minutes of sleep that I'm used to. The other members of the crew are probably so used to operating without me that I won't be required to perform my science duties any time soon.

When I saw Beck floating in through the open nose on the MAV, I nearly cried. Mostly due to the fact that I hadn't seen another human in a year and a half; partially due to the screaming pain in my ribs. I was somewhat scared that Vogel wouldn't be able to pull us into the ship and we would go flying off into the empty void of space together, but that was a small issue compared to some of the other ones I'd faced on that shitty red asshole of a planet (Fuck you, Mars!).

Beck pushed me down into his room once we got on board, and we waited while the rest of the crew ran checks on Hermes's engines and reactors. Once they sealed the breach and the atmosphere and gravity returned to our quarters, Beck removed my helmet. His eyes widened and for a second I thought I had received a major head wound or something, but then I realized he was just recoiling at the smell.

"Jesus Christ, Watney, you've been rolling in dog shit?" he said.

"Nope, just farming in my own," I replied with a smirk.

"Okay, I'm not even going to ask," he responded, shaking his head.

Before I could explain my hilarious joke, and I mean seriously, shouldn't NASA have filled them in about the amazing science shit I did to be alive! Anyway, Beck X-rayed my chest and wrapped it with bandages while the rest of the crew completed their checks of the ships hull and all the onboard systems. Once they finished, they all filed into the room, smiling at first, coming in to hug me and see how I was, before realizing where the smell was coming from and opting for (painful) high fives instead. They were all still really happy, just from 5 feet away where the smell was a little more bearable. After a few minutes, and a few inappropriate jokes from Martinez about where I had been using the bathroom on Mars, Beck kicked them all out and insisted he needed to perform his doctorly duty and check me over.

Beck knew about the broken ribs (but not the screaming like a little girl, some things are private), and said he would re-wrap them once I was clean. He gave me some pain pills (Vicodin, my favorite!) and waited for them to kick in. Once they did, he carried me into the only bathroom. The shower was tiny, so I expected him to just drop me off and let me wash myself. Instead, he pushed me into the stall and climbed in after me. He told me it was because he didn't want me to injure my arms, but I know he was just dying to get a chance to shower with this hunk. It was super cramped, and I doubt we both could have fit if I had been at my normal weight. He stripped me down to my boxers, but he left all of his own clothes on. Call me old fashioned, but I prefer for both parties to be nude or at least semi-nude when they shower together. He took a sponge from the shower storage, and set to work scrubbing me clean. I had a lot of Martian dust on me (hey, I haven't taken a bath in ages and I had to live in that tiny rover for 2 months), so I'm pretty sure he used almost an entire bottle of soap on just my torso. Once he had cleaned my chest and arms (and sighed a lot at my current semi-starved state), he began to work on my legs, starting at my feet. Once he reached my lower thighs, I began to get semi-hard. Okay, I know this sounds bad, but you can't blame me. I haven't had another human touch me in ages, much less strip me naked and scrub me with a soapy loofa. However, it soon got really awkward, what with the cramped quarters meaning that when he crouched down to wash my legs, his face was basically in my crotch. Once he finished cleaning my legs below my boxers, I stopped him.

"Okay, okay, I think that's enough. I can take the rest from here," I yelped.

Beck sighed. "Watney, I'm your doctor. I need to make sure you are totally clean so I can assess your health and make sure you don't get infected."

He didn't even wait for my response. He ripped my (partially tented) boxers off and threw them out of the shower stall. With much more vigor, he began scrubbing at the back of my thighs and over my ass. I felt pretty self-conscious. I mean, normally I would love someone as hot as Beck scrubbing my butt, but in my somewhat-starved state, my ass wasn't looking as slammin' as usual.

As soon as he finished my backside and began reaching towards the front, I began getting pretty hard pretty fast. I obviously hadn't had sex since back on Earth, when before launch I could pretty much get any babe I wanted. (Okay, that was a lie. But still, being one of 18 astronauts going to Mars was a much better line with the ladies than "I'm a botanist.") I hadn't even jacked off since around Sol 50, because after that it started getting pretty sad, what with the constant threat of death and all.

As he started scrubbing my cock, I had to try really hard not to focus on what was going on, or how good it felt. Don't get me wrong, normally I would count myself luckily to have someone like Beck giving me a hand job in the shower. However, since he was my doctor, and I'm pretty sure he was involved with Johanssen, I really didn't want to climax as he washed me. I started thinking about bugs, cars, old ladies, anything to get my mind off of sex. I hadn't had this much trouble trying not to have an erection since my 7th grade math teacher wore that really tight red dress.

Noticing my scrunched up face, Beck tried to comfort me. "It's totally normal to have this kind of reaction. Don't worry about it."

I snorted. "You're not the one trying not to cum in the shower as your doctor cleans you, when you still smell like a skunk took a shit on some sweaty socks."

"All done." Beck said. He stepped out of the stall to go get me a towel. As soon as he left, I wrapped my hand around my cock and tried to ignore the dull, throbbing pain in my ribs and as I stroked myself off.

Beck threw my towel over the door of the shower. "Whenever you're ready," he called.

"Just a minute," I called back, trying to keep my voice steady. My vision was blurring even more as my breathing became more rapid. As I came, I tried not to make any noise. I'm pretty sure I failed, as I could hear Beck trying not to laugh outside the stall. Once I finished, I rinsed my hands off and turned the shower off. I grabbed the towel and wrapped it around my waist.

Beck gave me a quizzical look. "All done?"

I shot him a smoldering look back. " I could've used your help," I retorted. His face instantly changed from slightly amused to serious. "Let's go back to my room so I can wrap your ribs," he said without any humor in his voice. I was going to make a really funny joke about moving things back to his bedroom, but it wasn't the time. I felt really bad, I must have mortally offended him somehow (maybe with the whole sex proposition thing).

Once we got back to his room, he continued his super-serious Doctor attitude. He re-wrapped my ribs and checked the rest of my body to determine if anything else was wrong, while avoiding touching me as much as possible. I kind of missed the old Beck, the one I knew on the way to Mars. Even though he was still serious, I could tell he thought my jokes were funny (of course they were). Whenever I cracked one, I would look at him with this shit-eating look on my face, and he would twist his lips and say I was dumb. That's pretty much his way of saying that I'm amazing and hilarious.

Oh well. I'm sure Dr. Beck will take me back once I make a few more world-famous Mark Watney™ puns.

He gave me some more painkillers (OxyContin this time) and told me to get some sleep. I'm making this audio log before I pass out. I hope nobody can hear me recording this. Now that I'm probably going to survive I should probably stop documenting embarrassing stuff, especially when other members of my team (or those physiatrist assholes at NASA who think they can micromanage every aspect of my fucked up life) can access these.

Hopefully soon everything will return to normal. I can't tell if everyone else changed or if it's just me. 


	2. Chapter 2

Log Entry: Mission Day 689

Note: OxyContin works well. Really really well.

According to Martinez, who was sitting beside my bunk when I woke up, I've been asleep for two days. Then again, his information may not be necessarily accurate. For all I know I've been in cryosleep for six years and we're halfway to Pluto.

The first thing he did when I woke up, besides suggesting I still look a little chubby, was to go get Beck. I wasn't super thrilled considering how awkward things were the last time I'd seen him, but he seemed to be over it and back to his usual, boring self. He examined my ribs, and asked how much pain I was in. I told him that Martinez's cooking hurt me more than my ribs did, and that managed to get a small smile out of him. Seems like he's gotten over whatever got his panties in a twist.

The thing that sucks the most about being almost starved to death by potatoes is that once you finally have access to a seemingly endless supply of non-starchy, albeit freeze-dried, goodness, you can't actually eat that much because your stomach has shrunk. Martinez got a quarter of a ration of eggs from the kitchen, and even though I was ravenously hungry, Beck fed it to me, bite by bite, painstakingly slowly. I felt like I was in one of those horror movie where the psycho gets off on torturing the victims by refusing to feed them. Then again, maybe Beck was getting off on it. I could see him with some people in a well in his basement, Silence of the Lambs style, never smiling, just saying shit like "Fiber is good for your health." Ugh.

I guess maybe he was just trying to keep me from throwing up and damaging my ribs more from eating way too much. Stupid people who care about my health. I took just fine care of myself back on Mars, with nothing but a broken Sojourner to look after me. And all the assholes from NASA, but I could always ignore them if I wanted to.

Then again, it is kind of nice to have people always around, waiting to see if I need anything. I wonder if I could convince them to overthrow Lewis and make me Supreme Commander of the Hermes and All of Space. One look from the (actual) commander would be enough to shut that down, unfortunately.

Now that I was properly washed, all of the crew came by to ask how I was doing. I got a little sick of answering "fine," "good," "cold," and "potatoes." Come to mention it, I'm sick of potatoes. I never want to see another one of those carb-filled vegetables from hell if my life depends on it. And it did.

Even though my ribs still hurt like hell, I wanted to get up and walk around the ship. I'm sick of sitting and lying down, or walking around in a bulky-ass EVA suit. My schedule on the drive to Schiaparelli Crater was: Sit in rover. Go outside. Sit under rover waiting for batteries to charge. Go back inside. Sit in rover some more. Watch shitty 70's TV shows. The only time I ever got to actually walk normally was in the Hab, and I hadn't been there in ages. The potato diet aside, I was pretty sure that not walking around was the most damaging thing to my health. Scientists were always doing studies back on Earth showing how harmful sitting down all day was, and now I actually believed them. I couldn't wait to get back in the gym and run like crazy on the treadmill. There was no such luxury on Mars.

However, Beck put a stop to that real quick. He blathered on for a while about stuff like punctured lungs, muscle decomposition, blackouts, yadda yadda yadda. I wasn't really listening, and I guess he could tell, because he decided to make it really clear I could not get up by tying me to his bunk with a strip of fabric used to seal pressure wounds.

I almost made a remark about how kinky it was that he was tying me to his bunk, but even I have my limits.

Okay, I actually made that comment.

"Wow, first you bathe me with nothing but a shower loofa, and now I'm tied to your bunk? You're into some kinky shit, Chris."

At first he looked almost amused, but then he put his serious face back on. He said some doctorly shit like "Your health is not a joke, Mark," and then gave me some more drugs to go back to sleep.

Whatever, he loves me. How could anyone resist this hot bod?

Anyway, I'm about to pass out from my latest dosage. I'm not sure why I keep making these logs, just out of habit I guess. It's nice to have a constant in my day, even if everything else has gone to hell.


	3. Chapter 3

Log Entry: Mission Day 699

Today was a pretty good day. Today Dr. Beck finally, FINALLY let me get out of his God-awful bunk that I'd been lying in for almost two weeks. Sure, I only got to walk around the ship for 20 minutes, and he was closely supervising me the whole time, but still. Anything is better than lying on my ass 24/7 with nothing to do. Not that I'm ever really conscious for more than a few hours a day, but still. The only interaction with other humans I had was when Beck, or sometimes Martinez, would come in and feed me ever-growing rations.

I was elated to get a chance to have a normal conversation with the crew. Lewis and Vogel had lab time on their schedule, so we visited them in the "geological and chemical analysis lab" (a.k.a. room with tables and beakers) and they told me about the experiments they had been able to conduct with the extended time in space. Vogel's acid-base titration and thermal decomposition labs were actually pretty interesting. I knew about the planned experiments he would have performed on Mars, since I took them over during my "extra" time on Mars. His new ones, however, involved way more dangerous chemicals like hydrogen fluoride gas. I don't know what exactly that is or what it does, but it sounds awesome. Why did I only get to do the boring tests with distilled water and dyed cabbage juice? However, I'm not a chemist, and I blew up the Hab once, so I guess NASA didn't want me to take any more unnecessary and possible dangerous chances. Then again, maybe they wanted to stop me from deciding that watching a cool explosion was worth destroying my home. I would never do that (I would consider it).

Then Lewis started telling me about her rock samples. As much as I love her, I cannot stand geology. I dug up dirt samples on Mars, and that was fine, but I never had to analyze them. Thank God, because I would have preferred decompression to trying to determine if the rock is igneous, sedimentary, or metamorphic. It's just a fucking rock, and that's only the super basic stuff. She also started pointing out how the different layers determine when a flood occurred or something, but I just smiled and nodded because I could barely follow along before. Then I just pretended my ribs hurt. I can pretty much just get away with anything now that I'm injured, but I'm not the type of person to take advantage of my crew mates like that.

We also visited Hermes' main cockpit, where Johanssen and Martinez were checking to make sure that our flight path was within the target range of 40 cm. I already know how the Hermes' thrust-ion engines work and how to pilot the ship, because NASA decided that if everyone died except for one member of the team and they lost all contact with Earth, they should be able to pilot the ship home. I have to give it to them, they really prepared us for every scenario (except being stranded on Mars for a year and a half). Still, some of the emergency training I learned may have actually helped save my life. Ugh, okay, I don't like praising those imbeciles. Most of the stuff I did to survive I did on my own, because even though they had access to thousands of experts in basically every field imaginable, if I asked them if I could plug the rock drill into the secondary Hab power instead of the main, they would need 5 hours and send me on 6 useless EVAs before they determined it wouldn't make a shred of difference.

Anyway, Johanssen and Martinez took me through the month-long deceleration course that we need to execute in order to go into low orbit around Earth. Even though I already knew exactly how it worked, because it was the same path we would have taken if everything had gone as planned (or if they had decided to abandon me on Mars), it was still nice to hear them talk about basic astronaut stuff, and to be reminded that now we are back to an actual, scheduled, pre-NASA approved (minus the mutiny) mission.

Once we finished visiting everyone, Beck took me to the gym. He told me that now that my ribs have set, I'll need to move around more to prevent shortness of breath. It's, of course, great news to me, because I hate being cooped up. Once I get back to a normal routine, I'll use my gym time for some lengthy treadmill walks and some deep-breathing exercises. He also took me through some yoga moves, which will help stretch all my muscles and improve flexibility. I'll admit, Beck would make a great personal trainer. He's super fit, and his ass looks great when he's in the "elevated wide squat." I think we should have these yoga classes more often. Maybe I'll even invite Johanssen. It would be hilarious to watch her try and do the plank pose with her tiny arms.

NASA is working on a limited schedule for me, keeping in mind my still-healing ribs. In a few days, I'll have blocks of time each set aside for science, maintenance, system checks, meals, workouts, and group meetings. I'll also have some free time at the end of every day, because it's not like I haven't already had enough of that. At least when I'm occupied, my mind doesn't wander to places I don't want it to go. On the up-side, I'll get to see my plants again. I hear Beck has been taking care of those, which doesn't leave me too optimistic. I hope they're still alive.

The only downside to being able to walk around again is that Beck is going to be cutting back my dosage of OxyContin, so that I can return to a normal schedule. I didn't want to whine like a baby in front of him, but I'm pretty sure that those drugs are the only thing letting me sleep through the night.

Oh well, I guess we'll have to see what happens. If I start screaming in the middle of the night and wake all the other crew members up, you'll know who to blame.


	4. Chapter 4

Log Entry: Mission Day 707

I've just received my schedule from NASA from the data dump. It's going to be a little odd to have pretty much every second of my day planned for me, but I'm not complaining. I'm just excited to get back to work. Watching TV shows and being drugged out of my mind has made me pretty lethargic.

I'm also glad to be away from Beck. I love him and all, but after almost spending every waking moment of the last two weeks with him, I need a little alone time. I spent a year and a half completely isolated from all other humans, so it's going to take a little time to get used to being around my crew all the time. I think Beck understands that, because he says he's only going to be monitoring me a few hours every week, to make sure I'm readjusting to life on the ship. On the other hand, he's probably glad to get away from me, too.

I'll write more once I've checked on my plants. I can't believe I get to grow things that aren't potatoes.

 

  
Log Entry: Mission Day 707 (2)

Well, I finally get back to my lab, and what do I find? Beck has killed all of my plants!

Okay, not all, but almost all. Okay, not almost all, but a lot. You get my point. I started this mission with eight different flower varieties and two different fern types I was going to plant and study, and I had five seeds for each. I only had room to grow forty plants, so the other ten seeds were just extra. The reason I didn't bring any useful plants, like vegetables or grains, was because they had already been studied extensively in zero-g on other, earlier ships like the ISS. NASA then decided that they could afford to send me along with some less useful, but much prettier, plants to study in space. The plants were designed to, obviously, be studied and experimented on, but they would also scrub some carbon dioxide from the air and (as I was told by those psychiatric assholes) be good for morale. On Mars, I was going to study simple plants such as grass, because they hadn't been studied there yet and were the easiest to grow, even in harsh climates.

Anyway, when I get to my lab, I notice that there are only 23 of my original 40 plants in the main planting area. I looked around at first, thinking for some reason that someone had moved them to a lower shelf or something. Then, when my search was unsuccessful, I decided to check the plant logs, where Beck should have documented everything that happened with my plants with detailed reports and pictures. Notice I say "should" have. Upon reading the reports, I see that he wrote a few words per day. A few words! Reading a report that says, _Plants_ _watered. Lights and temperature constant._ does not help me to understand why my plants are dead. When I looked more closely, I saw that he had run a few "unplanned" experiments in the extra time in space, as the rest of the crew had done, myself included.

Now I see why my beautiful sunflowers are dead. Beck decided a great experiment would be to feed the plants extra nutrient-rich soil while removing all light sources. Apparently it didn't occur to him that SUNflowers need light to live.

I mean, he's a biologist! Shouldn't he know how to keep plants alive? It's not that hard! The ship practically runs everything by itself anyway.

He also did a bunch of other experiments, all of them death sentences for my poor plants. He spun half the petunias at a speed of 30 rpm, and the other half at 60 rpm. Because there is no gravity in my lab, they could continuously spin with no additional forces being applied. Well, until they died. Capillary action doesn't work when a plant is spinning unbelievably fast. The tulips were given twice as much water per day (waterboarded) until they died. The ostrich ferns were placed in an incubation chamber with increased temperatures (burned to death). One of the amaryllises just flat-out died, with no reason at all. I suspect it killed itself due to the prolonged contact with Beck.

I'm going to try and keep the rest of my plants alive. They've all grown really well, due to the sustained light and temperature. I think one of the best moments I had in space was when the first seed I planted started to open and sprout. As I checked on their leaves, I hummed and whispered, _Papa's back._ You really start to feel a connection with things that you grew and nurtured out of nothing. I guess this is how parents feel, minus the lingering deep-seeded contempt. My plants will never ruin my dreams of becoming an astronaut or disappoint me by using their college fund to put their boyfriend through clown school.

On Mars, the potatoes could just grow in the soil, like plants on Earth. On the Hermes, because there's no gravity, they can't grow normally because the soil and water would just float around and make a huge mess, and the plants can't grow roots. Instead, we have a device called a VEGGIE, or vegetable production system. They way it works is that the seeds are placed onto a "plant pillow," which is essentially a bag of dirt, fertilizer, and nutrients equipped with wicking material that soaks up water. That way, the roots grow towards the bottom of the pillow and the stem grows outward, and expendable plastic walls provide protection for the sprouting plant as it grows bigger.

This may sound sophisticated, but all it boils down to is we glue a seed onto a bag of dirt and it grows normally, even in space. Thanks to the geniuses at NASA that spent millions of dollars and years of research to think of that. The good thing about it is it doesn't even need to be maintained, as it is directly connected to Hermes's main power and water supplies. The plants are given the exact right amount of water daily, and the lighting and temperature remains constant.

In other, slightly less interesting news (because I'm sure you enjoyed that rant about botany), I'm still stuck in Beck's bunk, because the coolant isn't working in my room or Martinez's. It's a steamy 37 degrees in there, which is perfect for a sauna, not so much for a bedroom. I hear that Beck and Johanssen are rooming together, and Martinez is bunking with Vogel. Commander Lewis must have made an executive order so that she wouldn't be stuck with Martinez's horrible hygiene issues.

I think I'm going to get revenge on Beck for his little experiments. I have a plan in mind...


	5. Chapter 5

Chris Beck checked his watch and sighed, realizing his thirty minutes of rec time were almost up. Now that Watney had returned to monitoring the plants, he was back to working only in his own biology lab. He had run every experiment he could think of on his lab mice, and now he had nothing to do.

Floating down to his lab, he was surprised to see that the door was open, and even more surprised to see a figure floating inside. He almost yelled when he saw them opening the cage door and attaching a bottle to the inside, but he stopped short when he realized it was Mark.

"Watney, what are you doing in my lab?" he asked incredulously. "And even more importantly, what are you doing to my mice?"

Mark turned around and flashed him a smile. "Oh hello, doctor," he responded. "Since you killed all my plants and left me with no more science to do in my scheduled science time, I thought I would return the favor."

"What are you giving the mice?" he asked.

"Oh, it's a simple salt water mixture. I thought of a great experiment in which we can study the effect of dehydration on mice in zero-g."

"Yeah, except for the fact that we already know what the effect will be. Death."

"Oh, you are _always_ so pessimistic."

"These mice have been through enough already."

"Then they'll survive! They must be very persistent. You certainly enjoy running death experiments, I can only imagine what you've already but them through."

Chris reached the cage and took out the solution. "Please, do not kill any of my mice."

Mark shot him a pouty face in return. "We can cremate your mice and my plants and mix their ashes together."

Chris chuckled. "They'll just go out the airlock. Besides, I'd prefer not to concern myself with burial arrangements."

"Why not?" Mark asked. "I thought about it all the time."

"About what?"

"What would happen if I died on Mars."

Chris looked away. "Please don't think about that now."

Mark shrugged. "It was a real possibility. So many things got fucked up. I could have died from at least fifty different ways, every single day. And if Mars didn't succeed in killing me right away, I would have starved. At least I had morphine. If I was going to die, I was going out on my own terms."

"It doesn't do you any good to think about these things. As your doctor..."

Mark cut Chris off, annoyed. "Yeah, well, they happened to me, okay! I had a 65% chance of death on a daily basis! That's not something you just forget. If I had died, my body wouldn't decompose. It would sit on Mars for thousands of years. So don't give me any of that psychiatrist bullshit."

"Well, you didn't die, alright? You didn't. You're here, you're going home. You manage to save yourself. You worked hard every day, and you did it."

"No, you did it. If you guys hadn't decided to stage a fucking mutiny I would've died." Mark moved closer to Chris and put his hand on the other man's shoulder.

Chris heard a snort from outside the doorway, and turned to see Beth floating there. _Gay_ , she mouthed, laughing to herself as she floated away.

Mark turned around, but Beth was already gone. He turned back and laughed. "Beck, are you blushing?"

Chris pulled himself back and wiped his face with his hands. "Uh, just hot in here," he stuttered. "Anyway, I really should be working on my actual lab experiment." Chris turned around and wiped his hands on his pants.

Mark looked over his shoulder and peered into the cage. "What are you doing to them, anyway?"

Chris moved over to his computer and pulled up his lab report. "With the extended time in space, I've had a lot more opportunities to study every aspect of the mice's life in zero-g. Obviously, traditional aquarium-style cages don't provide enough traction for mice to walk around, so instead, space mice have wire mesh cages so their toes can grip a rougher surface. Wood chips can't be used for bedding, they wouldn't stay in place. Gravity-feed water bottles won't work, pressurized water containers are needed instead. Bowls of dry food aren't practical, so compressed food bars are provided for them instead. As for cleaning the cages, a special waste containment system has been created to keep everything in its place."

"I know all that, don't you remember when NASA made us sit down with each crew member and explain our experiments and how they work? It was in the middle of intense training, so you might not," Mark interjected.

Chris looked up. "Of course I remember. You started it off by telling me you were going to 'grow shit in space.' Then you told the poor waiter that you were the hottest man ever going to Mars without even letting him get a word in. I didn't know you very well at the time, so I was a bit taken back."

Mark laughed. "But when you got to know me, you came to love my irresistible charm, and, of course, my amazing sense of humor."

"If you can call it that," Chris muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Mark to hear.

"What! Did the good doctor just 'diss' me? Is this real? I feel SO insulted!"

Chris looked up and gave him a slight smile, and then turned back to the computer. "Okay, back to my experiment. I've been able to study baby mice in space, which is really lucky."

"Whoa, the mice are having babies? Man, even they are getting more action than me." Mark joked.

Chris decided not to respond to that. "Baby mice, as is typical for mammals, will huddle for warmth. However, since their bodies will drift and float in space, they can't do that. By introducing a heat lamp to one side of the cage, I was able to get the babies to begin to cling to the cage much earlier then they would be able to do otherwise."

"I actually understood that, I think. It sounded pretty cool."

Chris turned around. "I'm going to take that as a compliment. It is actually very interesting how animals will adapt to whatever new environment they are put in."

Mark smiled at him. "Amazing."

Chris cleared his throat, and moved sideways, realizing just how close he was to Mark. "What are you supposed to be doing now, anyway?"

"You mean you haven't memorized my exact schedule? Right now I should be helping Martinez perform checks on the Hermes's systems."

"So he's doing it all by himself? He can't be happy about that."

Mark shrugged. "It only takes like five minutes anyway. You can practically do it from your bed. Besides, you are all used to doing things without me."

"Why do you have to make everything more complicated? You can never just do what NASA asks. I've heard stories about your dealings with command central, and none of them are good." Chris asked, only slightly annoyed.

"Why, what have you heard?" Mark said with a smirk.

"Whenever the botany team made a comment about your plants, you told them to go eff themselves. You told the entire review board that their mothers and sisters were prostitutes. You blatantly ignored what the experts told you and did what you wanted anyway. You made some poor sap at programming write a whole new code to censor your messages. You..."

"Wait, what?" Mark interrupted. "They censored all the messages I sent through pathfinder?"

"Yes, of course. The messages were instantly transmitted across the world, so NASA didn't have time to censor each one as it came in. And everyone all over the world was reading them, and that includes plenty of children."

"Consider it free education, courtesy of Mark Watney. I'm just exposing them to a little of the adult world."

"No one needs to be exposed to your vocabulary. You swear like a sailor. Luckily your curses weren't too original, or the programmers would have been at it for hours trying to think of everything you could possibly say."

"I wish I knew, I could have come up with some very interesting phrases..."

"Yeah, that's probably why they didn't tell you." Chris finished, to a pout from Mark.

"Whatever. I should go check on how Martinez is doing." Mark turned around and pulled himself out the door. Beck watched him go, telling himself he was only checking to see how Mark was healing and not checking out his ass.


	6. Chapter 6

Log Entry: Mission Day 716

Ever since I got back to the Hermes, I've been having some nightmares. Perfectly normal for someone who assumed for the past two years that every time they woke up they were about to die, I'm sure. I haven't told anyone about them. I wasn't really having them a lot right when I first got back on board, probably because I was getting a pretty large dosage of pain meds. Besides, most nights are fine, and I can get about six hours of sleep without any medicine, since Beck officially cut me off. There are some bad nights though.

Tonight was a bad night.

I woke up in a cold sweat, thinking I was in the Hab and it was decompressing. I could still hear the blaring low-oxygen alarms that always seemed to be going off when I was back on Mars. It took me over a minute to steady my breathing and reassure myself that I was safe in my bunk (well, Beck's bunk).

Checking my watch, I saw that it was 01:30. I probably couldn't get back to sleep for a while, so I decided to go to the bathroom and wash the tears off of my face. I had taken about one step before I tripped on something huge in the middle of my floor. Cursing, I fell down to the ground, landing on my (now more damaged) ribs. I got even more of a shock when the lump I tripped over starting moving.

"Holy shit!" I exclaimed, kicking wildly at the mysterious object on the floor. Then the lump grabbed my foot, and I started flailing even harder. I stopped, however, when I heard a hoarse voice shouting at me to _stop, Watney, stop, goddammit._

"Beck, is that you?" I asked curiously.

"Of course it's me. Who else would be sleeping on your floor?"

I managed to untangle my feet from his blanket and stand up. I hobbled over to the light switch and flipped it, shielding my eyes from the sudden bright light. "I don't know, an actual Martian? Why are you sleeping on my floor?"

Beck looked away. It seemed like he was almost sheepish, but he was probably just startled by the light. He mumbled something that sounded like _beckickmout_.

"What?"

He turned back to look towards me. "Beth kicked me out."

I laughed at first, thinking he was joking. Seeing the hurt look on his face, I realized he wasn't. "What, seriously? What did you do, insult her choice in video games? She gets very touchy over things like that."

Beck almost smiled. "Yeah, something like that."

"Wait, so you've been sleeping on my floor? For how long?"

"About a week."

"A week? How did I not notice?"

"You're a very heavy sleeper."

"Yeah, when I'm not waking up in a cold sweat from a nightmare every five minutes."

Beck frowned. "Nightmares? Why haven't you told me? How long have you been having them? How frequently? How much sleep..."

I cut him off. "Beck, stop. I know you're my doctor, but there isn't anything you can do for me. Besides maybe giving me some pills."

"There must be something I can do to help you."

I thought about it for a moment, then realizing that that would never happen, I stopped myself and changed the subject. "So is this your plan for a sleeping arrangement? On the floor in your own room while I hog your bunk? We could share, you know." I shot him a wink.

Beck looked away with that same sheepish look on his face. "I'll have to take a rain check on that offer."

"Your loss."

After some light guilt tripping, I finally got Beck to give me some drugs ("just for tonight though, and I swear if any go missing, Watney, I will throw you out the airlock," were his exact words). Who knew all it took were a few requests and some suggestions that he had purposefully abandoned me to get enough drugs to make any addict happy.

Now I'll finally be able to get some sleep. I hope my snoring keeps Beck up.

 


	7. Chapter 7

_login: ares III mission journal_

_login username: <chris.beck>_

_login password: <Maggie_14?>_

_> >> access granted_

_access request: medical journals_

_> >> security clearance: 3  
>>> access granted_

_access request: medical journal, crew member: mark watney_

_> >> access granted_

_open document, begin new entry_

Log Entry: Mission Day 720

Patient's ribs are showing considerable healing after over a month of treatment. Patient reports performing daily activities with minimal discomfort, and assures me they are performing the deep-breathing exercises we discussed, although I am not sure this is true.

Patient is eating a full ration now, and has gained 8 kilograms of weight in both fat and muscle tissue since returning.

Patient still showing signs of disturbed sleep patterns. Reports intense nightmares occurring approximately twice a week, with significant impact on amount of sleep. Topics are almost exclusively related to time spent on Mars. May indicate PTSD, will have to run extensive physical and physiological tests back on Earth.

Viable Treatment Options for on-board Hermes:

1\.  Increase dosage of sleep medication. Not favorable as it may lead to dependence.  
2\.  Counseling. Multiple attempts to counsel patient have resulted in dismissal of my abilities as a doctor or a therapist, both of which I am certified in.   
3\.  There is a third option, although less orthodox. Patient may be touch-starved due to a lack of tactile interaction while stranded. Will test theory soon.

________________________

Chris lay totally silent on the floor in his room, listening to Mark's steady breathing. He had done this almost every night for the past week. Although he told himself it was just because he was Mark's doctor, there was still that small part of his mind that whispered he had other, selfish motivations.

Just when he thought it might not happen tonight, he noticed that Mark's breathing had suddenly become more rapid. After a few more moments, his breathing became even more labored and shallow, and he also began thrashing about in his bunk.

Chris sat up, slowly at first, not wanting to wake the other man. Then, when he realized that wouldn't happen, he got up and walked over to his bunk. Mark seemed even more desperate now, and, even in the low light from distant stars coming in through the window, Chris could make out the other mans body on the bed, grasping furiously at something that wasn't really there, an almost panicked look on his face. He was lying on his side with his face up against the wall. Chris wasn't really sure how to proceed at this point, and sat down slowly on the bunk, his back up against Mark's.

As soon as his back touched Mark's, his breathing slowed down, but only marginally. Chris took his right hand and tentatively lay it on Mark's shoulder, gently rubbing it up and down his arm. Mark stopped struggling in the sheets, leaning in to the warmth of Chris's hand.

Chris continued to check Mark's breathing, and after it had steadied for a few minutes, he stopped and slowly rose from the bunk. However, as soon as he removed his hand, Mark started whimpering and moving about again on the bed. Chris wasn't sure what to do, but he didn't want to leave Mark so vulnerable like this. He sat back down, and Mark instinctively leaned into the heat from his body.

The doctor sat there for what seemed like forever, counting in his head the synchronized ticks from both his watch and Mark's. After a while, he slowly brought his legs up onto the bunk and put them next to Mark's. The bunks were very narrow, but Chris was able to fit his body next to Mark's since he was already laying on his side. Chris tried to stay on the very edge of the bed and leave a space between their bodies, but Mark shifted so that their bodies were flush on the bunk. Chris put his one free arm over Mark's body, and Mark sighed a breath of relief in his sleep.

After lying there motionless for a few minutes, Chris noticed that Mark's breathing had returned to normal. Chris hoped that he would wake up first in the morning, so that he could get up and return to his spot on the floor. He didn't know how Mark would react to waking up being spooned by his doctor.


	8. Chapter 8

Martinez walked down the hall of the dormitory area of the Hermes, and stopped in front of the door to Johanssen's room. He knocked once, then immediately opened the door and stuck his head in. "Wakey wakey eggs and bakey!" he shouted, and then pulled his head out of the doorway when he saw a pillow flying in his direction. "Hey, no need to be so hostile!" he shouted into the room, receiving only a grunt in response.

Martinez then walked to Beck's room, where he knew Mark was sleeping. He opened to door and walked in to deliver his usual greeting, but the words stuck in his mouth when he saw Beck lying on the bunk with Mark, tucked up beside him, both of them fast asleep.

He stopped short, then abruptly turned around and walked out, closing the door behind him. He sagged back onto the door, stopping for a minute before shaking his head and heading to the kitchen to eat breakfast with Lewis and Vogel.

_____________________________

  
Log Entry: Mission Day 730

I woke up this morning, which was just like any other morning. My ribs are almost healed, but they still twinge slightly whenever I twist my torso just so. I walked to the bathroom to brush my teeth, and didn't run into anyone else in the hallway. This was pretty typical, as Lewis still lets me sleep later than everyone else because I'm still "injured."

As I walked into the kitchen, I saw that the crew was all sitting around the main table eating breakfast. They were all engrossed in their conversation, but as soon as they noticed I had walked in, they stopped right away. I thought I had grown a tumor or something overnight the way they were all staring at me. I slowly walked over to the coffeemaker, watching them in my peripheral vision. I saw Johanssen whispering something to Martinez, but I had no idea what they were talking about.

Ignoring all the weirdness going on, I sat down at the table and starting eating my standard NASA-issue breakfast, which today was freeze-dried oatmeal. Everyone else may have been sick of it at this point, but I was still over the moon that it was not potatoes and "Martian coffee." As I ate, I noticed Martinez was still staring at me.

"Something wrong?" I asked him.

"Oh, nothing," he answered with a smirk on his face, and then glanced over at Beck.

I turned to look at Beck, who coughed and quickly stood up, his chair scraping across the floor. He brought his dish over to the counter, clattering it down into the sink and then almost running out of the room while muttering something about getting back to work. As he rushed out, I saw Martinez and Johanssen giggling to each other out of the corner of my eye. I don't know what they were laughing about, but seeing as they love to gossip, I'm sure they know something I don't. Not that there's a lot you don't know about the only five people you've interacted with in the past two years.

After breakfast, I headed to the gym for my workout time. On the schedule for today was a light 30 minute jog on the treadmill. Running is now pretty much my favorite activity to do on board the Hermes. Looking out of the giant bay windows into space, you feel out of breath as your heart races to pump blood, your feet beating on the treadmill just trying to keep up. Sometimes it feels as though I can just keep running until I'm far away from all my problems. NASA has informed me I can't do any sprints yet though, because my muscle definition isn't back up to what it used to be (still no six-pack).

After my run, it's time for highlight of my week - yoga with Dr. Beck. It's my favorite part because of the exercise, of course. It doesn't have anything to do with how hot Beck looks with his legs spread apart. I pulled the yoga mats out of the storage closet and rolled them out in the middle of the area. Normally Beck is very punctual, but today he was almost 10 minutes late. I decided to play around with one of those exercise balls, because, hey, you don't have to be a little kid to enjoy that! It was pretty fun trying to roll around and stay balanced on top, and fairly easy in only 40% gravity.

When Beck finally showed up, he didn't even acknowledge the absurd pose I was in (I was on my back with the ball in the air in between my legs), and instead just walked right to the water cooler and started filling his bottle. When I walked up behind him and put my hand on his shoulder, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Sorry, did I scare you?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah, sorry, I'm just a little distracted today," he responded, shrugging my hand off.

We walked over to the middle of the gym and began the workout. As he walked me from the mountain pose into the warrior pose, I noticed he was still avoiding my gaze. He was acting like he did when I first got back to the ship, which made me a little mad because I thought we had finally gotten past this.

"Hey, do you know what was going on at breakfast today?" I asked him, thinking maybe he was being pissy because of something someone had done that I didn't know about.

"Nope," came the quick response, although I could tell he knew more than he was letting on.

We finished the yoga poses with routine precision. After we were done, he asked me how I was feeling overall, what with regaining a lot of weight in both muscle and fat. I told him that my quadriceps and hamstrings were feeling a bit tight. He told me about some stretches I could do, but I had already tried all of them. He hesitated for a moment, and then offered to do some stretches with me.

Beck had me lay down on my back on the yoga mat. He knelt down between my legs, and lifted my left leg onto his shoulder. He asked me to push my leg down until I felt it stretch, but because my muscles were so tight, my hips kept lifting off the floor. Beck kept scolding me with his serious, doctor tone to keep my hips down, and eventually he got so frustrated that he reached out and put his hands on my hips, pushing them until they were flush with the ground and leaning forward so that his abdomen was pressed up against my inner thighs. He asked me again if I could feel the stretch in my hamstrings, laughing a little.

"Oh, I'm feeling it now." I responded with a wink.

The smile dropped from his face right away, and he released my hips and put my leg back on the ground. He told me I was still too tense to do this stretch, and I could try it again in a few weeks once I was more flexible. He grabbed his water bottle and quickly headed up the ladder.

I sat there for a minute still on my back, perplexed. I guess Beck was back to this cold, distant, I-hate-you kind of demeanor. Which kind of sucked considering that now we were bunk mates. His mood swings are kind of out of control. You'd think NASA would want to send someone into space who was more level headed. Like me, for example. I have it on VERY good authority that I was specifically picked for this mission because of my outgoing and compelling personality. Beck was clearly chosen to be the party pooper, so that he could stop the rest of us if, God-forbid, we were having a little bit of fun.

After my allotted gym time, I had some science time on my schedule, so I went up the ladder and floated to my lab. All my flowers are growing beautifully, and I even managed to plant a few more with the extra materials in the slots where the now dead plants had been growing. I think that's my favorite part about botany, getting to see the first sprout or leaf of a plant, knowing that just a few weeks or days ago it was only a tiny little seed in the ground, and it was able to adapt and use its surroundings in order to transform itself into something beautiful.

Once I was all finished in my lab, I had some free time. Instead of going to the rec room and watching the same four movies over and over, I decided to go to my actual room and see if I could do anything about the temperature situation. The coolant that runs throughout the ships had built up in my room and Martinez's, and, because it was corrosive, had eaten away at the pipes. Normally, since the Hermes is used for all five Ares missions, once it gets back to Earth, nearly every electrical and mechanical part of the ship is taken apart and replaced with new versions. This way, NASA doesn't have to build five giant spaceships, but for each mission it's pretty much brand new. However, because the mission was extended far past any date that NASA had expected or built parts for, a lot of stuff was breaking down, and we weren't able to replace it or completely fix it. Unless it was an extremely important system on the ship, Commander Lewis had deemed we shouldn't waste time or resources trying to make it work again. So, until we get back to Earth, I'm stuck in Beck's room with a grumpy bunkmate.

I wanted to make the most of a bad situation though, so I stood in my room for a while until I started sweating. I took off my all my clothes, and sat down on the floor. I spent so much time on Mars freezing my ass off, a homemade sauna was actually pretty nice. I must have lost track of time, because pretty soon Vogel came looking for me. God bless him, he isn't phased by anything, not even me opening the door to see me sitting ass naked on the floor, sweating so hard it looked like I had taken a shower.

"Time for dinner," was all he had to say, closing the door behind him as he left.

Once every two weeks, NASA makes us all eat dinner together. They say it's good for team cooperation or some shit, but I think it's pretty useless, considering we eat breakfast together every morning already. Anyway, I'm writing this before I go eat, so I better end it now. I can't wait to tell everyone about what I've been doing with my experiments, because that's another requirement, so that we can all learn and share our experiences on the mission. I think I'll say that I've thrown the lilies out the airlock to see how they survive without air, water, or light. They probably won't even blink an eye after what Beck did to my poor plants.


	9. Chapter 9

Chris woke up to the beeping of his watch, pushing at one of the buttons to turn the alarm off. He sighed. He was having such a nice dream, in which he was back on Earth, sitting in front of the fireplace of his childhood home, wrapped in a blanket, drinking hot coco with his cat, Maggie, on his lap. Then he realized why he was so warm in his dream; he was still lying in his bunk next to Mark. _Shit!_ he thought, quickly getting up and adjusting the blankets so it looked like only one person had slept there. Mark was still sound asleep, but he had overslept, and someone else might have walked in and seen them together.

He changed quickly from his pajamas into the everyday jumpsuit that was standard NASA-issue, and then walked down the hall into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Realizing he was late for breakfast, Chris finished up quickly, and then headed straight to the kitchen. He decided to let Mark sleep in, since he was still healing and was often allowed to miss the otherwise mandatory breakfast meeting.

He walked in, got his coffee, and sat down at the table. That's when he noticed Rick and Beth were both staring at him with huge grins on their faces.

"How was your night?" Rick asked him, as Beth giggled to herself behind him.

"What... what do you mean?" Chris responded.

"Oh come on, lover boy. It's not that hard to deduce what's been going on in your room. I'm just glad the Hermes has pretty good soundproofing," Rick retorted.

Chris blushed at this, which only led them to believe what he had said was more true. "I don't know what you're talking about," he answered, stubbornly, twisting his face into a frown.

"We know about you and Watney. Martinez saw you together this morning." This time the harassment was coming from Beth. "And it's about time, too. You made me lose the bet to him about when it was going to happen."

"What _bet_ , what, I don't even know what you're talking about!" Chris was flabbergasted.

"You. Watney. Fucking. It's very simple." Beth responded, rolling her eyes.

"What... fucking? You think me... and Watney... no! That's, no!"

"Aw, the denial. I know the feeling. See, it was all part of my master plan to finally get you two together. I can't stand these idiots, staring at each other when they thought no one could see with these lovesick puppy looks. It was SO obvious."

"I don't stare, what do you... Watney stares? At me? When, are you sure?"

"Oh, hun, of course! Why do you think I kicked you out of my room?"

"And wait, I had to sleep on the floor for two weeks because of some stupid plan you had?"

"Two weeks? Whoa man, you need to up your game! My mom can get laid faster than that!" came the response from Rick.

"I don't, that's not what's going on..." Chris stammered.

At that moment, Mark wandered in, totally oblivious to the heated conversation that was going on around the table. The moment the crew saw him, they all shut up at once, which only made Mark more suspicious.

"Don't say anything about this to Watney," Chris hissed under his breath, as Beth and Rick giggled. Alex and Melissa had remained surprisingly quiet during the entire exchange. "I wonder why he's still so sore," Beth whispered to Rick, receiving a glare from Chris.

As Mark sat down and started eating, Beth and Rick kept staring at him. _Oh come on, make it more obvious,_ thought Chris. Mark noticed something was up, obviously.

"Something wrong?" Mark asked.

"Oh nothing," Rick responded with a smirk, and then glanced over at Chris. He raised his eyebrows at him.

Chris tried to keep a calm, controlled look on his face, but he knew he would start blushing soon. It was a habit of his that he absolutely hated. He coughed, using it as an excuse to cover his face with his hand, and then stood up so quickly his legs pushed against the chair and sent it backwards, scraping along the floor. He walked over to the sink, trying not to rush and failing miserably. He set his dishes down in the sink and walked over to the door, informing the crew that _I missed some of my science time yesterday, I need to get back to work._

As soon as he was out of sight of the other astronauts, he stopped in the hallway. He didn't know what to do. Nothing had actually happened with Mark, and Mark didn't even know that they had technically "slept together" for the past few days. Mark hadn't had any nightmares since he started his so-called treatment, but it was still too soon to say for sure if it would always work. However, the crew would never let go of the idea that something was going on between them.

Realizing he was still standing in the middle of the hallway, Chris quickly rushed off to his lab, where he was working on experiments with his lab mice. His new experiment sought to assess how mice were able to perform in a zero-g obstacle course after they have been deprived of sleep. The course involved mazes that the mice would crawl through multiple times over the course of several days. Because the lack of gravity meant the mice had no sense of direction, their ability to move through the course relied on knowledge of which pathway to take, instead of muscle memory as it would typically be back on Earth. Studies on mice typically showed that their ability to remember how to perform tasks was significantly impaired following a 24-hour stint with no REM sleep. He was interested if the lack of sleep combined with zero-g would have an effect on the way the mice performed.

The way Chris was keeping them awake was pretty low-tech. The mice normally slept clinging to the wire-mesh on the side of the cage near the heat lamp. By removing the heat lamp and introducing a small fan, the animals were uncomfortable clinging, and instead floated around inside the cage, making it impossible to sleep. He also had set an alarm to go off randomly about once every half hour, just in case one had managed to fall asleep.

Checking on his mice, he noticed that they had eaten and drank less than they normally did over the course of the night. This was a good sign that his experiment was going to plan, as once a mammal's body has gone around 18 hours without sleep, their brain starts increasing dopamine levels, which leads to a decrease in hunger and thirst. This meant that in a few more hours, the mice should, in theory, have impaired planning and decision making skills, as the brain shuts those parts of the brain it deemed unnecessary down. That would be an ideal time to test the mice in the maze, after which he would turn the heat lamp back and let them get some sleep. Even though he was a biologist, he hated running experiments on the mice that would cause them discomfort. Although, it would be cool to have the mice hallucinate, which they did after three days without sleep, but there was no way of measuring their brain activity with such limited equipment on the Hermes.

As he was running checks on the mice and setting up the maze on the other side of his lab, his watch started beeping. Confused, he checked his watch to see the message _Rehabilitation - Watney - 12:00_. Cursing, he quickly logged off of his computer. He had totally forgotten about the extra gym time in his schedule, as it only once a week and was added after Mark had returned to his normal schedule. He had become so engrossed in his work, trying to block out what had occurred at breakfast, that it had slipped his mind.

As he slid down the ladder into the gym, he noticed that Mark had already prepped the week for their stretching exercises, which normally consisted of some relatively simple yoga poses. Ignoring the ridiculous pose Mark was in, Chris walked straight over to fill up his bottle at the cooler. He told himself as he did this that there was nothing going on between them, that Mark didn't feel the same way, and that the Martinez and Johanssen had only said what they did because the misinterpreted the situation.

As he was trying to convince himself of this, he suddenly felt Mark's hand on his shoulder. Chris jumped at the sudden touch, both because he was startled at the sensation and the closeness between their bodies.

"Sorry, did I scare you?" Mark asked, and Chris could feel the breath from his voice on the back of his neck.

"Oh yeah sorry, I'm just a little distracted today," Chris answered, stepping away from Mark in order to end the contact between them.

Chris led them both over to the yoga mats that were already rolled out, and began the workout. Knowing that looking straight at Mark's face would cause him to blush, he steadily avoided the other man's gaze. Mark could tell something was up, however, and kept moving his head around as they progressed through the poses trying to catch Chris's gaze.

"Hey, do you know what was going on at breakfast today?" Mark asked him, still suspicious about all the staring and giggling that had occurred earlier.

"Nope," Chris responded, knowing he couldn't actually tell him what the others thought was going on.

After they finished all the yoga moves, Chris wanted to leave. He felt pretty uncomfortable around Mark, partially because he was actively lying to him about what had occurred over the past few nights, and partially because he was trying to hide his feelings. Although he knew the others saw him as unfeeling and cold, this was only because he could hide his emotions quite well, at least most of the time.

However, Mark insisted that his quads and hamstrings were still tight. Chris knew some stretches for these muscles, of course, but Mark told him he had already tried these already. Chris also knew of some partner stretches that he could help Mark with, but he really wanted to leave. After arguing with himself for a little, he decided that he couldn't let his emotions interfere with his duty as a doctor.

Chris settled himself between Mark's legs, trying very hard not to touch the inside of his right thigh as he lifted his left leg onto his shoulder. Chris tried to tell Mark that he needed to keep his hips on the floor, but Mark kept laughing at him. Exasperated, Chris finally grabbed Mark's hips and pushed them into the floor. As he did so, he leaned forward until his chest was pressed against Mark's groin. Smiling a little now, he asked Mark if he could feel the stretch in his handsprings.

"Oh, I'm feeling it now," Mark winked at Chris, and Chris stopped smiling.

He got up suddenly, a little shocked at his own vehement reaction. He needed to get out of this situation right away, so he made up some excuse about Mark not being able to do the stretch yet, grabbed his water bottle, and quickly climbed up the ladder. He had free time after this on his schedule, so he decided to go to his room in order to avoid all the other crew members.

After he closed the door to his room, Chris sighed and sat down on the floor with his back against the door. His feelings for Mark, and then his extreme reactions against those feelings, were creating what must seem like wild mood swings to everyone else. Whenever he saw Mark, he felt nervous and giddy, like he was back in high school. Mark always seemed happy to see him as well, but he was like that with everyone. In fact, he would almost say Mark felt the same way for him, except for the fact that Mark was so friendly, and, well, _flirty_ with everyone else on the team. He knew Mark was bisexual, but that just made it more likely that he liked someone else other than him. Besides, it wasn't like anything was ever going to happen between them, especially while on board the Hermes.

Chris decided his best course of action was to avoid contact with Mark alone and put whatever ideas he may have about what was going on between them out of his head. However, it wasn't like the other members of the crew would be much help in that aspect, especially because they knew about the whole nightmare treatment he was using. He sighed again, looking at his schedule and realizing that tonight was the mandatory team dinner. He had some more free time for now, but at the dinner, he would be stuck with the entire crew, and no excuse he came up would be able to get him out of a probably awkward confrontation. He thought maybe Mark would skip it because he was tired or something. He was always making up excuses to get out of things he didn't want to do.

Chris decided to use the rest of his time to go check on his mice again. At least they didn't tease him.


	10. Chapter 10

Log Entry: Mission Day 738

Things have pretty much gotten back to normal on board the Hermes. At least, until last night.

Yesterday started off the same as always. I woke up a little late, changed and went to the kitchen to eat breakfast with the rest of the crew. The giggling has pretty much died down, replaced with a discussion regarding the repair to the the engine's discharge hollow cathodes. I feel like it would be kind of ironic to survive two fucking years alone with no supplies on Mars to die on my way back to Earth because of a broken tube.

After breakfast, I went to the gym for a workout (alone). Then I went to my lab to check on my plants. Some of the flowers have gotten too tall for the ultraviolet lights they grow under, so I moved them to a lower shelf. I took pictures of all the petals, measured their heights, and recorded everything into my lab sheets.

I had some free time after that, so I headed to the rec room to check out my daily data dump. My dad sent me a video of the new golden retriever puppy they had gotten. I loved being able to be in constant contact with my parents again. After I got Pathfinder working, NASA had sent me a few messages from my parents, and relayed a few things I wanted to say to them, but it was really different. For one thing, they were more focused on me not dying in the next few hours than informing me of how my cousin had gotten drunk at his college graduation. The messages I sent were also public, so anyone around the world could access them, and I've even heard they had a segment on CNN every week to talk about what I'd been saying. So I can't really tell Mommy I love her when the whole world was watching.

When Pathfinder died, I thought I was pretty much done for. I could still give NASA status updates (through painfully arduous rock messages in morse code), but I had no way of receiving any important data from them. The only thing that got me through was a saved message I had from my mom. I still have every word memorized.

_Sugar Pie, thank God you're alive. Stay strong and come home safe to us soon. Your father says hello. XOXO, Mom_

After the Iris probe blew up and everyone thought I was going to die, Dr. Shields, who is another NASA psychiatrist, made be write personal messages to each crew member. She said it would keep me "tethered to humanity." I thought it was bullshit, but it was an order. I asked Martinez to check on my parents if I died. I knew it was a hard thing to ask of him, talking to a couple about their dead son, but he's pretty much my best friend on the ship. I kind of imagined how that conversation would go down a couple times ("Oh Mrs. Watney, Mark was the bravest, smartest, and kindest soul I ever had the privilege of knowing," that kind of stuff), but it just made me seriously depressed. Being an only child, my parents would have been devastated if I had died. Not that they would have been fine if I had had a replacement sibling, but you get the point.

Along with that email, I also had some letters from old friends. NASA had been filtering what to send me, since once I got famous, every person that had ever passed me on the street felt the need to try and contact me. All of them were positive, although I suppose NASA wouldn't send me any negative ones. They love to believe everyone supports them, and I suppose their approval rating went up once I got safely back on the ship. In fact, the whole reason they probably tried to save me was because of the hit in popularity when everyone thought I was dead. I'm sure I have hate mail somewhere, probably some asshole writing that they didn't want to spend their tax dollars on saving me, and that they should have left me for dead. Hey, if you think I'm the worst thing your tax money is going to, you haven't done your research. There are some fat shrimp out there with your name on them. (If you don't know what I'm talking about, look up "U.S. government pays for tiny shrimp treadmills". It's hilarious.)

There were also some memos from NASA themselves, mainly about plans for my rehabilitation back on Earth. All astronauts have to go through them, at least on the Ares missions. Because we've spent so long with only 40% of Earth's gravity, it's pretty hard to even walk when we get back. I'll probably be stuck longer than everyone else though, because of the whole "starvation" aspect. They have some standards for body mass index, along with fat and muscle percentage, but I can always just stick some rocks in my pockets to fool the scales. I've survived this long purely by ignoring what the smartest scientists in the world have told me to do, so why should I stop now?

There was also some information about me providing a written summary of exactly what happened on Mars, starting with the dust storm on Sol 6 and ending with the MAV ascent on Sol 549. I've pretty much already described all of the information with my logs, so I'm ignoring that. And I'm sure that they'll ask for a detailed description of what happened during the storm, trying to figure out some way to blame Commander Lewis for what happened. I won't be complacent in blaming someone for making an impossible decision. Lewis did the right thing to save the entire team, and if she hadn't made that choice, we all would have starved together on Mars.

I got my dinner (pork chops and applesauce) and returned to the rec room. Watching anything that wasn't from the 70's or had a laugh track was a real privilege. When NASA teamed up with the CNA to resupply Hermes with the Taiyang Shen booster, they had recreated all the personal items that were supposed to be sent on the Iris. That included handwritten letters from my family, a note from the president, and, you guessed it, a flash drive! With non-shitty TV to watch! It included the most recent Cubs games which, now that I think about it, are actually pretty shitty. Still, being able to watch my favorite team get absolutely slaughtered reminded me of being at home. I also got a copy of _2001: A Space Odyssey_. I know, it's a cliche for an astronaut to love movies about space, but it's such a good film. Plus, if a rogue AI ever tries to kill me, I'll know exactly what to do.

Once I was done, I decided to turn in early. I've been averaging about 11 hours of sleep per night, which is actually not very healthy. I also got a lot of sleep on Mars, especially on my journey to Schiaparelli, when there was nothing else to do. But since I'm still healing, it's been deemed permissible by my one doctor on board and my many doctors back on Earth, who have apparently been receiving every detail of Beck's reports on my recovery.

Anyway, I lay down on my side facing the wall. I was about to fall asleep when Beck walked into our room and turned on the light. I pretended to be asleep, because I didn't want to bother him as he got ready for bed. However, he isn't fooled that easily.

"Watney," he said. I still pretended to be asleep, attempting to regulate my breathing.

"Watney, I know you're awake. Your breathing pattern is much more shallow than that when you're in non-REM sleep, as you would be if you had been in bed for only 15 minutes."

I rolled over in my bunk so I was facing him.

"Well, obviously I'm not asleep when someone walks in here, turns on the lights and starts yelling at me."

Beck frowned. "I wasn't yelling."

"Okay, well, maybe I exaggerated a little. What do you need that can't wait until morning?" I asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice. I sat up on the bunk, throwing the blanket off.

"We need to talk," he responded.

"About what?" I asked.

Beck looked away sheepishly. "Ah, well. There's something you don't know about. Something that's been going on for about the the past week."

"Well, what is it? Just spit it out."

Beck almost starting blushing at this. "I've, ahh... I've been trying a... different... type of treatment on you."

"Treatment? For what? And what do you mean, 'different'? Why are you being so cryptic?"

"For your nightmares, of course. Your ribs are practically fully healed, and your weight gain has been tremendous. I haven't noticed any other problems with your health."

"My nightmares? I haven't had those in a while."

"Yes, and that may be attributable to the new procedure I've been using, but there hasn't been enough time to say it works for sure."

"Okay, well this is great news! Why are you being so weird about it? Have you been drugging me or something without my knowledge?"

"No no, nothing like that. Well, see, the truth is... " Beck trailed off at this point, muttering something under his breath.

"What? I couldn't hear you."

"Ah, umm, I said... I've been, ahh... _cuddling_ with you while you sleep at night."

"You WHAT? You've been WHAT? Cuddling me? What does that even mean?" I shouted, standing up.

"It's very simple. You always lie on your side facing the wall when you sleep, so I just lay down next to you. You seem to respond very positively to tactile stimulation."

"So what, you've just been spooning me? Is that your big 'nightmare treatment'?"

"Essentially, yes."

"Wow... wow." I said, pacing around the room. "You've got to be _forking_ kidding me." I said, then turned to Beck to see his reaction.

He stood, puzzled for a moment, then face palmed as he realized what I said. "Come on, Watney, this isn't a laughing matter."

"No, no, I think it is, because, see, when someone tells you they've been spooning you without your knowledge for a week as some sort of theory, well, you just can't resist cracking a joke." I couldn't keep all the acidity out of my tone of voice.

Beck sighed. "As your doctor, I needed to try something. I couldn't just watch you suffer throughout the night. I had an idea that you had been deprived of tactile sensations for so long that you would respond positively to them. And so far, I've been right. You were having a nightmare the first time I tried it, but when I lay down next to you, it stopped."

"You started this, what, about a week ago?" I asked. "Yeah, I think I remember. Yeah, the last nightmare I had, there was a huge sand storm, and I was afraid the Hab was going to burst. But all of a sudden, this warmth came over me, and the storm died down. I was safe. It had never happened before. Most of the time I just wake up, still thinking I'm about to die."

Beck looked a little chuffed. "Well, I'm glad that I was able to help you."

"Okay, so, wait, why didn't tell me? I would have been fine with it."

"I wasn't so sure you would be amiable to the idea."

"I mean, now it's a little weird that you were doing it without me knowing. Wait, does anyone else know about this?"

"Ah well, one morning, Martinez may have walked in and seen us lying together..."

"Wait, so is that what's going on with all the giggling and staring? Do people think we're sleeping together or something?"

"Maybe..." Beck responded.

"Well, why didn't you just explain everything to me?"

"I was, uhh, I didn't know how you would react."

"I mean, it's not a big deal. I'm just glad I know the truth now."

Beck turned to look at me. "Now that you know, do you want me to continue? I completely understand if you don't."

"No, no," I insisted. "You're the doctor. If you say it's helping me, it must be."

Beck raised his arm to check his watch, then cleared his throat. "Uhh, well, it's time for bed.."

"Oh, okay."

"So, do you just want to..."

"Yeah, yeah."

I walked back over to the bunk and lay down as I normally did, this time a little closer to the wall so there was room for Beck to lie down behind me. Beck quickly changed into his pajamas, then turned the light off and walked over to the bed. I listened as he lifted up the blanket, and slowly lay down on the bunk next to me. I felt like he was careful not to touch me as he lay down, but we had gone way too far for him to be this reserved, so as soon as he was settled in I moved backwards until my body was flush with his.

He sighed a little, then put his left arm over my chest. I kind of hate to admit it, but it felt really, really good. It is cliché to say I felt safe in his arms? Because I did. I almost felt like a little kid again, crawling into my parent's bed when I had a nightmare and falling asleep. After so long on Mars, without even seeing another human being, being so close to one soothed me. I haven't even slept next to anyone in forever, not since I broke up with my last girlfriend, and that was a few years before I left for this mission. There isn't exactly time for building committed relationships when you're preparing to go into space for two years.

With Beck's added body heat, our bunk warmed up pretty quickly, and I feel asleep almost right away. No nightmares, just like the doctor had predicted. When I woke up this morning, Beck had already left for breakfast. The bed felt almost empty without him, even though I only found out he had been sleeping with me last night.

I'm writing this log before I leave to go to breakfast. At least now I finally know what all the whispering is about. Maybe I'll play along with their theory about us. It would be worth it just to see the look on Beck's face when I admit to everyone else that we've been fucking.


	11. Chapter 11

Log Entry: Mission Day 746

I'm kind of surprised I'm still alive. Let me explain.

This morning, I walked into the kitchen like usual and went over to grab my coffee and meal pack. Things had gotten so familiar, I was almost back into routine with the rest of the crew. Beck turned to me and flashed me a smile, which I returned with earnest. Then I walked over and sat down in the empty seat, between Beck and Lewis.

"How's our super plant boy feeling today?" asked Martinez, jokingly.

"I'm feeling great, thanks to the amazing work of our on-board surgeon," I replied, looking over at Beck. Johanssen, who was sitting across from me, rolled her eyes and made a gagging sound.

I sat there for a while, not really following the conservation, instead enjoying my breakfast of eggs and bacon. All of a sudden, I heard someone say my name, and then again in a louder voice.

"Huh?" I asked, looking up.

"Mark, are you paying attention? I was asking how the repairs you've been working on to the ship's main water piping system is going," responded Lewis.

"I, uhh..." I wanted to reply about how I had been able to seal off the broken valve by using extra pipe pieces, but a sudden, sharp pain in his chest stopped me. I sat there, gasping for breath, grabbing at the table to try and stabilize myself, as I was feeling really dizzy and lightheaded. My vision blacked out on the edges, rapidly obscuring my field of vision.

"Mark!" I heard Lewis calling.

I collapsed onto the floor, barely able to make out the faces of my crew mates as they crowded around me. My vision totally blacked out as I heard my doctor scrambling to check my vitals, and calling out orders for me to be rolled on me side. Right before I lost consciousness, the last thing I remember was hearing Martinez muttering _amazing surgeon my ass._

When I regained consciousness, I opened my eyes to see four concerned faces staring back at me. As soon as they saw I was awake, they all visibly relaxed and starting smiling. I was propped up on a few pillows (someone must have collected them from other rooms, since each person only gets one) on Beck's and my bunk.

"Watney, thank God you're okay," said Martinez.

"Hey, thanks buddy," I responded. I tried to sit up, but as soon as I moved I got a splitting pain in my side and my vision starting spinning.

"Watney!" yelled Johanssen, and Beck looked up from his computer where he was writing. He rushed over to me, putting his hands on my shoulders and forcing me to lie back down. _Don't be stupid, Mark_ he muttered under his breath, which took me by surprise because we always referred to each other by our last names.

"You need rest," Vogel commented from the back of the room.

"Thank you for that insightful advice," I responded, but Vogel didn't seem to understand the sarcasm.

"Hey, where's Lewis? Guess she doesn't care that much about the most famous member of her crew," I asked.

Beck frowned at me, which annoyed me a little because it was obviously just a joke. "She's in the bridge, giving NASA a status update about your situation," he responded.

"Ah, yes. I go tell her you are conscious," Vogel said, and then left the room.

"So what the hell happened?" I asked, still unsure of why I even passed out.

"You experienced syncope. By my best estimation, it was due to atrial fibrillation."

"In English, please?" Johanssen asked.

Beck sighed. "Watney fainted."

"Well, duh," I commented.

He glared at me, then continued. "Atrial Fibrillation is caused by the atria and ventricles inside the heart beating out of synch, because the atria are contracting very quickly and irregularly. The blood pools in the atria, and isn't completely pumped into the heart's lower chambers, called the ventricles. The body will only receive rapid, small amounts of blood or occasionally larger amounts. When your brain received a significantly lowered amount of blood, it caused you to feel lightheaded at first and then to pass out. We're lucky that you were only in 0.4 g, because if you were on Earth, it would have been much harder for your heart to pump blood to your brain, and much more serious complications may have occurred."

"Okay, that's great and all, but what actually caused it?" I queried.

"Here's where my theory gets a bit shakier. When you were on Mars, you were constantly in contact with Martian soil. Vogel's analysis of the soil in Acidalia Planitia showed that it contains a much higher rate of perchlorates than on earth, making up approximately 0.6% of the soil."

"Perchlorates?" I interrupted.

Beck ignored me and continued. "Perchlorates are salts that are capable of disrupting the body's metabolic system. They can interfere with iodine absorption, thyroid hormone production, mood, appetite, temperature, sleep, and more. Long-term exposure to these can result in high chances of developing thyroid cancer. They're some seriously harmful toxins. You were both ingesting some of the soil from the air each day, and eating potatoes grown in the soil, so you had continuous exposure to these salts. However, you only ingested around 1 mg a day, which is well below toxic levels even over a long period of time, so you probably don't have any severe long term effects. The salts take about 2 months to be flushed out of the body, which is probably what triggered your reaction today. Because the salts interfered with the hormones in your body, it may have stimulated an overactive thyroid gland, which could have caused the atrial fibrillation."

"I'm off of Mars, and it's still trying to kill me," I joked, and everyone in the room laughed softly.

"Once you passed out and were lying horizontal on the floor, your heart began beating normally again and restored the blood flow to the rest of your body. You stabilized pretty quickly after that, so it was safe to move you to the 'sick bay' for further monitoring," Beck finished.

"You should have seen us attempting to transport your unconscious body," Martinez injected. "You'd think we were a bunch of high schoolers instead of highly trained astronauts."

"What happened?" I asked, turning to look at him.

Johanssen, who was standing next to him, chuckled. "Since you were pretty much fine, Beck authorized us to move you. We don't exactly have a stretcher just lying around, so we grabbed a random board from Lewis's lab and tied you onto it with computer cables."

"Super high-tech," I commented.

"Hey, what do you expect? It's not like we're on board a billion-dollar space craft or anything," Johanssen said. "Anyway, it was pretty easy to lift you off the floor and move you up the Semicone-A ladder, where it got even easier as we climbed up and the gravity decreased. Once we reached the top of the ladder, Martinez gave you a push down towards Semicone-B. It was a little too hard, though, because before we knew it, you were plummeting headfirst towards the ground, picking up speed."

"What?" I yelled, looking over at Martinez.

"Hey," he shrugged his shoulders. "I caught you before you landed!"

"Is that it?" I asked, looking around. "Anyone else want to confess that they harassed me while I was unconscious?"

"I'm sure we've all wanted to give you a few punches from time to time for annoying us. But no, no one actually did, probably because we'd want you to be awake." Johanssen admitted.

At that point, Lewis walked back into the room. "Watney, I'm so glad you're okay. NASA sends their best wishes for your recovery, and Beck, they'll be waiting for your full report." Beck nodded and walked back over to his computer.

"As for the rest of you, it's back to normal schedule. I wish it were different, but we're still on a mission. You'll all have time later to come and check in on him." The crew agreed, coming by to pat me on the shoulder before trudging out of the room.

Soon it was just Beck and I alone in his room. "You must be pretty sick of me hogging the whole bunk at this point," I commented, which got me a small snort of laugher in response.

"You're been maintaining your exercise regiment, which is good. Another way to prevent atrial fibrillation is a diet high in fresh fruits and vegetables, which, unfortunately, are in somewhat of a shortage up in the vacuum of space. I am going to be cutting back on saturated and trans fat in your diet, though. I'm also going to be giving you some methimazole, a drug which interferes with the thyroid gland's ability to produce hormones, but only for a short time. The salts should be completely out of your system in a few days."

"Am I going to be stuck in bed until then?"

"Unfortunately..." Beck started, then stopped when he looked over and saw my sulky face. "Watney, come on. You know this is only for your own health. NASA agreed that you should get rest for at least a day, but then you can get up and perform limited movement around the ship."

"Awwww..." I pouted, but I knew Beck was right.

"No arguing?" Beck said. "I'm shocked. Who are you and what have you done with Watney?"

I smirked. "I thought you called me Mark."

Beck looked away, a little embarrassed. "I didn't think you noticed that."

"It was just a little odd, that's all. I haven't heard anyone call me that since I was back on Earth."

Beck finished typing his report and came over to sit on the bunk. "You should get some rest now," he concluded. I closed my eyes, and he absentmindedly put his hand on my calf and started stroking it. I hummed a little, and he rubbed his hand over my leg one more time before standing up. He went back over to the computer for a little, presumingly to send the report back to Command Central, and then left the room. I took a nap for a few hours, but since then I've just been lying on my bed. Seeing as I don't have anything else in my schedule today, there wasn't really anything to do except for to write another log. After this I think I'll write an email from my mom. NASA might have told her about the incident, and she'll want to hear from me that I'm okay. Maybe she'll send me another video of her puppy to cheer me up.


	12. Chapter 12

Log Entry: Mission Day 756

959 days. That's how long it's been since I last had any kind of sex.

It was about seven months before launch, and I was in Chicago for the last time before I left for Houston and final mission training. Some of my buddies took me out for a going-away party. Probably more of a "you-might-die-so-let's-have-fun-one-last-time" kind of celebration, but it was fun anyway. We went to a club, and after a few drinks, some guy started chatting me up. He had recognized me as one of the astronauts on the Ares missions, which was kind of surprising, since I was the least well-known member of the team, at least at the time. Anyway, after asking me a few questions where he seemed disinterested in the answer, he got to the point, and asked me if I wanted him to blow me in the bathroom. I knew I wouldn't get another chance for a while, so I said why the fuck not, and into the stall we went. It was your average blowjob, nothing spectacular, but he left with a huge smile on his face, probably going off to tell his friends about how he blew a Martian. My friends didn't say anything when I returned, but I could tell from their sly smiles they knew what had happened. It may have even been part of their plan all along.

Anyway, I bring it up because I woke up in the middle of the night. After the whole losing consciousness thing, I've been confined to my bed for a majority of my day. Of course, I don't need 16 hours of sleep per day, so a lot of time I just end up lying there, totally awake. When I woke up this morning, it was probably around 03:30, and I knew I wouldn't get back to sleep any time soon. It was really nice though, just enjoying the warmth of Beck's body, and listening to his slow, shallow breathing. He had his left arm thrown over my torso, and I could feel his right arm pressed up against my back as well as the rest of his chest. My legs were tucked up towards the wall, and his followed the natural curve of mine. He had me pretty much trapped, but I didn't mind.

Then I noticed something strange. At first I thought I was just imagining it, but after a while I couldn't ignore it anymore. Beck was getting an erection, and it was pressing into me pretty hard. Now, I'm a scientist, so I know that when the body enters REM sleep, it decreases the release of neurotransmitters, partially in an effort to stop you from acting out your dreams. One of these transmitters, which I don't remember the name of (but I'm sure Beck does), happens to be involved in the control of erections. Specifically, it causes vasoconstriction of penile blood vessels, actively preventing an erection. When you enter REM sleep, the neurotransmitter in your bloodstream decreases, and testosterone related actions are now able to take place. This leads to vasodilation, or increased blood flow to the blood vessels, ultimately causing an erection.

I told myself this as I lay in bed, because after all, I am an highly-trained astronaut and not a fucking teenager. But that didn't stop me from _somewhat_ enjoying the feeling. You can't blame me, though. Especially when someone's dick is pretty much pressed up into my ass. It's been so long since I've had any sort of sexual pleasure from someone other than myself. Normally I do that kind of stuff for fun, not as part of a medical treatment for nightmares. I'm not going to complain though. In fact, this is the best thing I've ever been ordered to do by a doctor before, and that includes eating ice cream after I got my tonsils out.

After about 15 minutes, Beck started to lose his erection as he transitioned back into a deeper sleep. I fell asleep a little while later. When I woke up again, Beck was already up and walking around in our room. I turned over in the bunk and saw him with his shirt over his face as he took it off to change into his jumpsuit. I immediately turned back over to face the wall before he could see me, a little embarrassed to get such a clear view of his chest. He obviously kept up his workout regiment, because he had very clearly defined abs and triceps. His muscle definition put mine to shame, but I can't really be blamed for not working out on Mars when I barely got enough calories to wake up in the morning.

"Good morning, Watney," he said, because obviously he instantly knew I was awake. I grunted in response.

"Lewis agreed that you've recovered enough to return to a normal schedule, and since you're already up, you should probably join us for breakfast. On time today."

I grabbed the pillow and pulled it over my head, which he must have taken as a confirmation, because he commented that he would see me there and left the room.

After lying there for a few minutes, I threw the blanket off and sat up. I must have done it too quickly, because I got a head rush and had to wait for it to wear off. I stood up (slowly this time) and walked over to the closet where my uniforms were. Someone had moved all of my clothes to my lab when the cooling system had broken in my room, and I moved them in here once I got back. Beck had once told me how hard it was to work in my lab, surrounded by all my stuff, which served as a constant reminder to how dead I supposedly was. Although, he may have just been guilt-tripping me into doing my deep breathing exercising. I have to say, if he was, it worked pretty well.

I got dressed and walked to the bathroom. Because I had gotten up earlier than usual, the rest of the crew was also getting ready, and I had to wait at the bathroom door until Martinez finished inside. He opened the door, and stopped for a second when he realized it was me.

"Hey, feeling better? I feel like I haven't seen you in a while, at least not in a non-supine position," he asked.

"Yeah, well, I was fine letting you guys do all of my work, but eventually I ran out of Cubs games to watch," I joked, and he laughed.

"That must be why I heard sobbing from your room," he retaliated, and I winced at the burn.

"They'll make a comeback someday!" I yelled as he walked past me down the hall.

"Yeah, and I'll be watching that game on Venus," he said over his shoulder, and I chuckled as I walked into the bathroom.

I peed, then washed my hands and brushed my teeth. Looking at my hair in the mirror, I realized it was getting pretty long. I haven't cut it since one of my last days on Mars in the MAV, and the ends are all choppy and split. On the normal mission, the men are supposed to keep their hair to either a buzz cut or a little longer, while the women are allowed to have long hair, as long as it is pulled back. At one point in mission training I pointed this out to an overworked NASA employee, complaining about sexism keeping me from growing a man bun. She looked at me like I was crazy, and just walked away shaking her head, but I still think I would look hot with one. Maybe I'll grow it out once I get back to Earth. Hey, I'm so famous now that maybe they'll feature it in some magazine and I'll start a trend.

After I was done in the bathroom, I headed to the kitchen. All the other crew members were already seated except for Johanssen, which was typical of her. She was not exactly a morning person. After a couple minutes, she stumbled in, her uniform and hair all akimbo. She plopped down in her seat with her coffee mug. We all watched closely as she brought it up to her lips, about to drink, and then realized that there was nothing inside it. She sighed and got up to go to the coffee machine, and we all laughed. It's good to know that some things never change.

The remainder of breakfast consisted of boring conversations about ship maintenance and changing schedules. I was able to ignore it since the only thing I was supposed to do today was go to the gym for a supervised workout, and then briefly go to my lab to check on the plants. Even though I am the ship's mechanical engineer, the others got so used to working without me that they don't need me anymore. Not a great feeling, but I can make myself feel better by reminding myself that I did every one of their jobs by myself when I was stranded on Mars. Not only did I do my actual jobs, I was also the geologist, the chemist, the doctor, the biologist, the pilot, the software engineer, and the commander. Sure, the only person I was in charge of was myself, but I'm a very difficult person to manage.

Once we were all done eating, everyone left to go perform their separate duties, but Beck and I headed to the gym together. I haven't yet been approved for anaerobic exercise, but I'm supposed to do aerobic exercise, which I'm told will help strengthen my heart as well as improve my mental health. I know that exercising will help my muscles, of course, but I've never bought the whole "running makes you happy" idea. As someone who has been required to run insane distances, I can testify that it does not, in fact, make you happy. The only benefit I can see is that afterwards you can eat cake without feeling guilty.

My workout today consisted of a half hour on the stationary bicycle, followed by some jumping jacks, sit-ups, and jumping rope. Beck was supposed to monitor me as I did all this, making sure that I performed them correctly and did only a fixed amount of sets, and that I felt okay as I did them. If I had felt any discomfort in my chest or had difficulty breathing, he would have stopped me, and we would have tried again in a few days. But as I sat on the stationary bicycle pedaling away I felt fine. I told this to Beck, and he looked genuinely happy. Figures the only thing that makes him smile is my health.

I could perform the rest of the exercises fine, but once we got to the sit-ups, I found that I could barely lift my torso off the floor. I sat there, flailing on the floor with my arms in the air, and Beck looked over and laughed.

"Is my struggle entertaining you?" I asked, a little offended.

Beck got up off the floor, where he was doing his own (perfect) sit-ups and walked over to me. "No, no, it's just... you reminded me of a calf."

I stopped and looked at him incredulously. "What? Are you calling me a cow?"

"No, no. When I was in med school, my uncle, who was a veterinarian, asked me to come help him with one of his client's who had a pregnant heifer. When the cow finally gave birth, the baby came out and just lay on the ground on his back, with his legs waving around in the air until finally the mom pushed it over. For some reason, when I saw you lying on the ground like that, the image of the poor calf just popped into my head."

I scrunched up my face. "I'm SO insulted. I could get up if I wanted to..."

He laughed again and knelt down next to me, sliding his hands down onto my back. "Here, let me help you," he said, and pushed me up until I was sitting on the ground.

"Thanks," I responded. He then walked around and grabbed my hand, pulling me up onto my feet.

Beck trotted over and grabbed our water bottles from the side of the gym, then walked back to me and handed me mine."What do you have next on your schedule?" he asked, which I found odd because he, along with my doctors at NASA, had decided on what I was allowed to do and when.

"I'm going to my lab for a little," I replied.

"Oh okay, I'm going in that direction too. I'll walk you there," he said, smiling a little.

We walked over to the Semicone-C ladder, and Beck started climbing up. The NASA jumpsuits are pretty tight, because they're custom-fit, so I'll admit, the view looking up was pretty nice. I climbed up after him, and we pushed ourselves down the circular hallway towards the lab rooms. My lab was the first room on the right, so we both grabbed the door as we floated by. I pulled myself in, then turned myself around to look at Beck still floating in the doorway.

"Okay, well, uh, if you have any problems, you know where to find me," he said, and I nodded.

He pushed off and floated out of sight. I turned back around to look at my plants, which have been growing great. Johanssen has been looking after them for the past week while I've been lying in bed. Unlike Beck, she actually took decent notes and photos of the petals and overall height. Some of the flowers are in the pollination stage. Since there are no bees on the Hermes (can you imagine?!), we have to transfer the pollen ourselves. The super complicated procedure consists of using a cotton swab to collect pollen from the male flower, and transferring that to the female flower, where it is used to coat the stigma inside the petals. This way, the flowers can create seeds with a different genetic code than either parents.

A few of the flowers I planted once I got back to the Hermes are beginning to open. Once the sepals pull back, the bud will open and blossom into a mature flower. I've got a few (non-lethal) experiments planned for the flowers once they reach the adult state of their life cycle. The crew may be in for a surprise...


	13. Chapter 13

Chris checked his watch for what seemed like the millionth time that night. Only two minutes had elapsed since he had last pulled up his sleeve to see the time. He looked back down at his empty plate, which had been neatly scraped clean. Normally, when he was done eating, he could just leave. But seeing as the mandatory team meal was tonight, he had to stay so they could all discuss their most recent projects.

"Hey, it'll be over soon, right?" asked Rick, who had noticed Chris incessantly checking the time. "I mean, I know we all suck, but it's only an hour."

"Oh yeah, Beck can't wait to get away from us and go brood with his mice. Too bad he'll be stuck with me tonight," Mark added.

Chris knew about Mark's mandatory check-up, which was scheduled for after dinner. In fact, the reason he had been checking the time was because he had been waiting all week for this time with Mark. Instead of letting on how attached he was, however, he just brushed off their comments with an abrupt, "Oh, right. I had forgotten."

"Forgotten about me?" Mark put on his best pouty face, and Chris rolled his eyes in response.

"Come on guys, we're almost done," Lewis interjected into the conversation. "Let's get back on topic. What were you saying, Vogel, about your experiments with the soil samples..."

Chris tuned out the conversation, using his fork to draw invisible doodles on his plate. He was relieved when the meeting finally ended, and everyone dispersed to do their final duties before bedtime. The only thing on both Mark and Chris's schedule for the rest of the day was the physical.

As they slid down the ladder and started walking towards Chris's room, he got slightly anxious. Everything on the ship had been so hectic lately. With their return to Earth getting closer, NASA was already throwing a massive amount of prep at the crew for the gigantic media shit storm that was going to hit them when they landed. He barely had any time alone with Mark, aside from coming in at night and shoving him over so he could lie down, and patting him on the shoulder when he woke up in the morning. All of Mark's supervised gym time had been replaced with maintenance after he decided it was a good idea to try and to grow his plants inside of the kitchen appliances. He was really looking forward to this alone time with him, but he wasn't really sure what he was going to say or if anything was going to happen.

Once they arrived, Mark lay on his back on the bed and Chris walked over to his desk. He grabbed his laptop, and moved the chair over towards the bed so he could sit besides the other man. He was typing in his computer, opening the documents and questions NASA had sent to him for this important two-week checkup, when he looked up and saw Mark squeezing his eyes shut.

"Are you OK? Are you in pain?" Chris asked, concerned.

Mark opened his eyes and unclenched his fists, which were at his sides. "No, I'm fine. I'm just mentally preparing myself for whatever painful and invasive medical procedure you're about to perform."

Chris laughed a little, then hurried to explain when he saw the panicked look on Mark's face. "No painful procedures today, Watney. You've been through enough of those because of your broken ribs. I'm just going to be doing a complete physical examination to make sure that I'm able to note all aspects of your recovery, and confirm that you don't have any other unnoticed medical issues."

"Oh, okay. That doesn't sound too bad," Mark remarked.

Chris finished writing his pre-exam summary, so he turned to the questions NASA wanted him to ask Mark.

"How have you been feeling?" he asked, and immediately regretted it. NASA should know by now not to ask Mark Watney those types of questions.

"Well, I'm not feeling super, doc. See, my mom hasn't sent me a picture of her puppy in days, and I KNOW she's been teasing me because she keeps writing about all this cute stuff he does..."

Chris interrupted at this point. "You know what I mean. Have you had any aches or pains, and has anything been bothering you?" he asked, then elaborated when he saw Mark open his mouth, "With your health."

Mark closed his mouth and made it into a little frown. "I feel totally fine."

"No chest pains, no headaches, no dizziness, no swelling, no..."

Mark cut in at this point. "No, no nothing! I feel fine, really. I've lived through worse."

Chris swallowed the lump in his throat. "Watney, I need to make sure you're totally OK. I can't have you dying, not under my watch."

Mark snorted. "Yeah, not when NASA could blame you for it. At least if I had died on Mars they would have blamed Lewis."

Chris's eyes widened. "Mark, don't joke about things like that! I know you don't mean it, but it's not funny."

Mark sat up and turned to face him. "Okay, _Chris_ , since we're calling each other by our first names now. And no, of course I don't blame you guys. It was just a joke, geez."

"Your health isn't a joke to me. When I saw you passed out on the floor of the kitchen, I thought you were actually going to die. I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you."

Realizing Chris was a little upset, Mark lay back down and shut up. "OK, well, seeing as I am your primary doctor, and I'm already familiar with your complete medical history, this part should go a little faster," Chris stated, almost to himself.

Chris finished typing and then shut his laptop. "Strip," he ordered.

"Woah, woah, I prefer a little romance first, but we can just jump right in," Mark remarked.

Chris blushed, then got up to go put his laptop back on his desk. "NASA needs me to perform a thorough full-body physical examination in order to ensure that there aren't any other issues with your health. But I can turn away while you disrobe if it makes you feel better."

"No, no, it's fine, I just wasn't expecting it," Mark concluded. Chris stood at his desk, gathering the various supplies he would need for the exam. He could hear Mark muttering quietly to himself as he got undressed, but he told himself to focus on his actual doctoral duties instead of wondering what his crew mate looked like nude.

"So that's, underwear off then?" Mark called from behind him.

Chris winced a little, then responded, "Yes. Everything."

He heard some more shuffling, and then Mark called out, "I'm all done."

"OK, we're going to start with a quick weigh-in," Chris responded. Mark walked over to the scale where Chris was waiting with his head turned to the side. He looked down just long enough to read what his weight was, and then looked back at his computer to enter the numbers, remembering to multiply the number by 2.5 so that the weight in the lowered gravity would reflect what Mark's weight would be on Earth, and he could get an accurate number to calculate his body mass index.

Chris then had Mark stand straight up, then bend over slightly while allowing his arms to hang from his sides to check for scoliosis. He ran one finger down his spine, checking to make sure it ran straight and was level underneath his skin. Chris tried not to look at Mark's crotch, but he couldn't easily avoid it. Mark's penis was larger than average, and it was fairly wide. Chris caught himself imagining what it would feel like in his mouth, but he stopped himself before he gave himself away by getting an erection.

Once Chris had finished, they both walked back over to the bunk, and Mark lay down on his back. Chris sat down in the chair, and scooted it in so that he was almost parallel with Mark, and facing his upper half. He put all of his supplies on the small side table, and set his laptop down in his lap. He put his hands on Mark's neck, and Mark shivered.

"You OK?" Chris inquired.

"Yeah, your hands are just cold."

Chris rubbed the lymph nodes on the sides of Mark's neck under his jaw, noting that they were not swollen. He performed a quick visual scan of his face. Then he grabbed a small penlight and used it to check the dilation of Mark's eyes, and then looked into his nose and ears. He used his thermometer to check the temperature of his forehead.

Once he was done with Mark's head, he ran two fingers down his neck to check his trachea. He began tapping on his torso, checking the consistency, location, size, tenderness, and texture of each individual organ, and also to ensure there was no excess abdominal fluid. Grabbing Mark's wrist, he used this index and middle finger to feel the pulse, and counted out for six seconds to calculate his heart rate. He leaned over to his supplies and grabbed his stethoscope. He placed it over Mark's lungs, and ordered him to take deep breaths so he could listen to his breathing. He then reached around and put his hands under Mark on his back, pushing him up until he was sitting on the bed. He measured his heartbeat on his back, listening for any irregular rhythms. He grabbed the blood pressure gauge, and tightened the armband around Mark's upper arm. He slowly let the air out, using the meter to check how high Mark's blood pressure was.

Chris sighed, then got up and walked over to his desk. He grabbed two latex gloves from his box and began putting them on.

"OK, you can swing your legs off the bed." Chris said.

Mark looked over at him, then followed his orders. Chris walked back over and moved his chair so it was between Mark's legs. "And open them."

Mark willingly accommodated, and Chris finished snapping the latex gloves into place. He sat back down and grabbed Mark's shaft in one hand, and lifted it to reveal his balls underneath. Mark squirmed a little, but Chris ignored this and began massaging the testicles, feeling for any lumps inside. He stuck his fingers up to the top of the area and ordered him to cough. Mark obliged, and Chris noted the strength of the abdominal wall between the intestines and the genital area to check for a hernia.

Once Chris was sure everything was fine with Mark's testicles, he turned his attention to his penis. He lifted it up, examining the bottom and the sides. He ran his hand down the shaft, using his thumb to examine the head. Mark's penis, stimulated by the exam, began to thicken and become stiff in Chris's hand.

Mark cut in at this point, his voice stuttering a little. "Uhmm, sorry, yeah, about that. I, uhh... I haven't been, y'know, touched in a while."

"Don't worry, it's totally normal. In fact, it's a sign of a perfectly functioning reproductive system." Chris set down Mark's penis and began to take off his gloves.

Mark made a face. "Oh, gross. Please don't include in your official report that I got hard when you fondled me."

Chris laughed, and Mark looked pleased with himself. "Okay, we're all done, so you can get redressed."

"Or, y'know, I'm already naked, so maybe you want to join me..." Mark winked at Chris.

The smile dropped from Chris's face. He stood up abruptly. "I'll give you some privacy."

"Wait! Beck, don't do this again."

"Do what again?"

"You know what I mean. Whenever I make a joke, you always get so uptight and leave. I don't understand what you problem is."

Chris turned around and faced the door. "Mark, you don't... you just don't realize how your actions affect other people."

"Can you turn around and just talk to me?"

Chris turned around slowly, still looking at the floor. "When you make jokes like that, it hurts. It's not funny to me. Sometimes I feel like you actually care about me, but when you do shit like this, I remember it's all just an act."

Mark looked shocked. "I... it's not an act, Chris. I do genuinely care about you. Can you not see that?"

Chris hesitated for a moment, then began to respond. "Yeah, but not in the same way. I don't know if we can keep going like this..." Before he could finish, Mark got up and abruptly closed the gap between them. He titled Chris's head up, cutting off whatever he was saying by pressing their lips together.

Chris resisted for a moment, then slowly melted, closing his eyes and letting Mark in. Mark grabbed the back of Chris's head, tangling his fingers in his hair, and Chris opened his jaw to deepen the kiss. They stood their for a moment, mouths locked, before Chris reached his hands up and began to undo the zipper on his jumpsuit. Mark broke off for a second, breathless.

"How long have you been waiting for this?" Mark stuttered.

Chris groaned. "No more talking."

Mark shrugged, and went back in for another kiss. This time it was a bit more frantic, and they kept bumping noses as they moved around to find a more pleasurable angle. Chris struggled to get out of his jumpsuit. When he finally pulled it off, he kicked it away, and took his pants off as well. He stopped the kiss for a moment to take his shirt off, and pushed Mark onto the bed. Mark looked a little surprised at the sudden force, but before he could say anything Chris was on top of him kissing him again. Mark banged his head on the wall when Chris jumped onto him, but he just laughed a little and adjusted his position so he was lying down on the bed. Chris was on top of him instantly, holding himself up on all fours, and pressed him forcefully into the bunk. Mark reached up to grab Chris's ass, and started tugging on his underwear.

"C'mon, I've been undressed for like an hour now," he rasped. Since Chris had propped himself up, Mark was able to slide down underneath him until his head was aligned with Chris's crotch and his legs were bent up against the wall. He reached up and slid his underwear down just enough so that his half-hard penis fell out, and Mark took it into his mouth right away. Chris gasped, and resettled himself on his knees so that Mark had more room to move. Mark pulled back until just the head was in his mouth, and swirled his tongue around it. He dipped his tongue in and out of the slit, then used one of his hands to lube up his cock with Chris's pre-come and his own saliva. With his other hand, he played with Chris's balls. Chris trembled, focusing only on the sensation from his crotch, which overwhelmed every other sensation. He tried to regulate his breathing, but his brain seemed to have short-circuited. Mark reached up and grabbed Chris's ass, using it to lift himself further onto Chris's dick. As Mark continued his steady rhythm, Chris arched his back, and, squeezing his eyes shut, he came into the back of Mark's throat with a small gasp. Mark easily swallowed, then wriggled back up to kiss Chris. Chris sighed into his mouth, then collapsed next to him on the bunk.

Mark curled up next to him, now slightly slick with sweat, and pressed their foreheads together. "Not much of a moaner, are you?" he asked.

"You were pretty quiet, too." Chris murmured.

"I can't really be loud when I have a dick in my mouth."

Chris chucked, then looked down to see Mark slowly rubbing his own, fully hard penis. "Let me help you with that," he said, and wrapped his hand around Mark's hand, guiding it up and down. Mark moaned loudly, putting his head on Chris's shoulder.

"Oh fuck, yes, just like that, oh Chris, oh God," Mark cried out. He shuddered, then came loudly all over Chris's leg and his underwear, which was still around his thighs. He sighed, then started laughing softly. Chris looked at him, surprised, and Mark began to laugh even harder. When he finally caught his breath, he explained.

"I'm just trying to imagine what those prudes at NASA would say if you included _this_  in your report."

Chris shook his head, smiling a little. He sat up, reaching down to remove his underwear and throwing it off into the laundry basket. He grabbed the blanket they were lying on top of, and pulled it over them. Mark shivered, and intertwined their legs together under the covers. Chris tucked his head up over Mark's, and, for the first time, they fell asleep together. 


	14. Chapter 14

Log Entry: Mission Day 761

I actually can't believe what happened. Maybe writing it down in my diary will help me get it through my head. Last night, I had probably the most mind-blowing sex ever. Although that may be because I haven't been fucked in three years. At least not by anything other than Mars.

When I woke up this morning, Beck was still asleep. I was all curled up next to him, and I had been using his chest as a pillow. Once I untangled myself from his arm, I sat up and noticed he was drooling on the pillow. I never really saw anyone do that before. It's kind of cute.

Anyway, it was still pretty early according to my watch, so I lay back down next to him, and used my finger to trace the muscles on his abdomen. I have no idea how he manages to stay in such good shape on a fucking spaceship. I put our forearms together, admiring our nearly identical tattoos. Mine read 17, since I was the seventeenth person to step onto the surface of Mars. His read 14, because was a higher rank than me and got to go out right after Commander Lewis. Lucky bastard. Before we got them, we argued for like two weeks about what the font should be. I wanted it to be a fancy cursive font, with maybe some flowers or vines surrounding the number. My idea was unfortunately shut down by Lewis, who finally decided to just pick a basic, blocky font and stop all the bickering. It still looks pretty cool though, and the tattoo artist who did them was really stoked. I'm pretty sure he has a picture of all of us on his wall.

As I was staring at them, I mused about how there were only two numbers that separated us. Ironically, those two who stepped out between us were Martinez and Johanssen, the two people that were desperately trying to get us together this whole time, even before we knew the other person liked us. Now maybe I'll repay the favor for Johanssen once we get back. I'm trying to think who she'd be into. I think I'll troll the local video games forums; I'm sure there are some single guys on there.

I started tracing the numbers on his arm, and he softly groaned and opened his eyes. He looked down at me, and I couldn't help but laugh at his ruffled hair and the dried drool on the side of his face. I reached up and ran my fingers through his hair, and he smiled.

"Good morning," he mumbled.

"Mmmm..." I replied. "I had fun last night."

He looked down to see my morning wood, which was pressed up against his thigh. "I guess not enough."

He adjusted his hips so our dicks were pressed together, and then reached down and wrapped his hand around both of us. He began a slow, steady rhythm, and I sighed in appreciation. He sped up, and I started moaning. "Jesus, Mark, you're going to have to learn to be quiet," he commented.

"Oh, are you going to gag me?" I asked, and, for once, he didn't shy away. He raised one eyebrow, said "maybe...," and continued what he was doing.

Finally, with a small gasp, Beck came onto his hands, and seeing his whole body shiver with pleasure pushed me over the edge. I ejaculated, crying out as waves of pleasure racked my body.

When I finished, Beck looked at me and laughed a little. "You done?" he asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," I replied.

"Was it... good?" he asked, a little sheepishly.

I chuckled, then realized he was being seriously. "I can't think of a better way to wake up." I curled up closer to him, and pulled the blanket over us that had been thrown away during a fit of passion. He sighed and readjusted his arm to it wrapped around my back.

We lay there cuddling for a while, but eventually we started to hear the rest of the crew walking around as they got ready for the day. After a while, Martinez slowly opened the door, and when I turned to look at him, I noticed he had his eyes closed. "Are you guys, good? Decent? Covered?" he asked.

I turned back to Beck, who had his head shoved into the pillow. I laughed, then called over to Martinez, "We're fine."

He stood in the doorway, and opened his eyes just enough to see the floor. "Breakfast in 15. And next time, if you guys are having so much fun, it's rude not to invite the rest of us to join in. It's been a while for us, too."

Beck made a small whimper of embarrassment, but it didn't bother me. Hey, the more people that know I'm banging the hottest doctor that's ever been to Mars, the better.

After Martinez left, Beck got out of the bed and walked over to the closet. I lay there, now openly admiring the curve of his ass. He finished putting his jumpsuit on, and called over to me as he left, "C'mon, after everything we've put the crew through, we could at least be on time for breakfast."

I got up and got dressed, but I couldn't stop myself from looking back at the wrinkled and cum-stained sheets on our bunk and smiling like a maniac. Suddenly, the five month long journey back to Earth seemed a lot more bearable. 


End file.
